


Oikawa Syndrome

by zeldaring



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LIKE OIKAWA, M/M, for all those who are into that, for the soul, got a little bit of wakatoshi worshipping oikawa, save semi from himself 2k16, semi suffers from something called 'self doubt', welcome to rare pair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldaring/pseuds/zeldaring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Ushijima, the court was a whole other world - a total different realm of existence; “the court is not the place for social affairs,” he’d told Satori, like, 20 million times. And Satori admired his ability to separate the two, because for him they were intwined and locked together like thread in a tapestry. To Satori, the relationship with the team was as vital off-court, as it was on; the need to be connected was what fed his own game play.</p><p>So seeing Semi like this was tearing him up inside.</p><p>(semi overworks himself and ushijima still somehow manages to bring oikawa into the situation)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oikawa Syndrome

Satori wasn’t particularly the observant type. Yet, at the same time, he seemed to be hyper-aware of people’s emotions.

It was like some dreaded sixth sense that pooled around him, made him on edge and fidgety from being drowned in other people’s emotions. It was as if he couldn’t help him self, for as soon as someone else's ‘negative vibe’ began to elevate into the room, swarm the atmosphere like angry bees or something, Satori was on it. It was just so obvious to him, the slight tilt of someone’s lip, the wither in their eyes, or the furrow of a brow; the shake of someones clenched fist, or forced breath between teeth, it screamed at him. 

It was like it was his job, or something, to just pick the mood up, to redirect the ‘vibe’ or whatever. 

People who were grumpy were as obvious as a fire in a forest, and if you didn’t step in soon enough, they could be as contagious as one too. 

So, naturally, Satori was onto Semi in a heart beat. 

The shake of his arm was a big enough give away, it pulsed with built-up tension. The judder of his shoulders were like an earthquake to Satori, the gnaw of his lip and the hang of his head and the tense but broken glare screaming nothing but “ _I’m depressed and mad about this current situation.”_  

 

Semi sat on the bench, fists clenched in his lap as he glared ahead silently. His eyes seemed to dart with every one of Kenjiro's movements; twitching with every time his wrists flicked. 

Satori analysed Semi with the same level of intensity, concentration and interest. He cocked his head slightly, humming lowly. 

“Focus” Ushijima mutters lowly, his own crouched form turning slightly. 

Satori rolled his eyes, cracked his knuckles and gave him a toothy grin,

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?”

“I mean on the game, not on him.” Ushijima’s face turned forward again as he proceeded to bend his knees lower, signalling the end of the conversation. Satori was left glaring, running his own lip between his teeth. 

“I am focusing on the game—but—Wakatoshi, aren’t you mad?” Ushijima didn’t even glance over. 

“Aren’t you mad about Eita? Like not the tiniest, its-iest, bit pissed off?” Ushijima grunted in response, rolling his shoulder back to relax tensed muscle. Satori looked back over his own shoulder at Semi, who now sat on the edge of the bench with fingers digging into his thighs.

 

This was not good.

 

“The coaches decision is the coaches decision,” Ushijima comment sensibly, “every choice he makes is it to make the team stronger, to make us an unbreakable force without any weak links.” Satori’s eyes narrowed, “You callin’ my ‘SemiSemi’ a ‘weak link’?” 

Ushijima only grunted in response. 

“Since when was he your ‘SemiSemi’?” Reon called from Satori’s left, eyebrows raised in interest. 

“Since I took him in my arms as a lover on the fateful night, Reon.” 

Reon laughed at his sarcasm and Satori felt the distant vibrations of Semi’s pain settle at the bottom of his stomach. His heart and limbs felt heavy with the weight of Semi’s gaze on his back, dragging him down. 

“I’m gonna go talk to him.”  
“Don’t.” Ushijima gently caught Satori’s shoulders, holding him still “we’re about to start the second half, we need you on the court.”

“But— Semi—I can’t just—“ 

“It’s an affair for off the court.” Then the whistle sounded out, and with one last guilty look over his shoulder, Satori was forced into the pulse of the game. 

He could still feel Semi’s anger weigh heavy on his shoulders when he leapt to slap the ball, blocking a spike. 

Maybe this was a one time thing?

 

It wasn’t. 

 

Seeing Semi on the bench, trying his best to conceal any pent up anger or frustration, was becoming a common sight. He’d watch, clutching a clipboard, running down notes to keep himself busy, or sometimes, running his fingers messily over a spare volleyball. Satori could almost feel the way Semi rough handled the ball over his own skin, Semi’s finger pads aggressively pushing at his own skin with the same amount of frustration and just pissed off… -ness. 

It was hard to try and brush off and ignore, even though Ushijima had no problem doing it. To him, the court was a whole other world - a total different realm of existence; “the court is not the place for social affairs,” he’d told Satori, like, 20 million times. 

And Satori admired his ability to separate the two, because for him they were intwined and locked together like thread in a tapestry. 

To Satori, the relationship with the team was as vital off-court, as it was on; the need to be connected was what fed his own game play.

 

So seeing Semi like this was tearing him up inside.

 

“Ushijima”, he’d whispered/shouted after their third practice match without Semi as a starting setter, “he’s our best friend— aren’t you pissed off at all?” Ushijima’s brow had furrowed and eyes slanted. 

“No, friendship has no place on the court.” 

“Okay, then he’s an important team mate.”

“Yes, but that has nothing to do with position. He’s still vital.”

“I know he is! But he doesn’t know that!”

“Then maybe you should tell him.” Satori stopped towelling his hair dry and turned, lips poised. The same wave of guilt settled over him again as he analysed Ushijima’s blank expression. It was true, Satori hadn’t actually said anything yet - at least nothing personal. Of course, he’d run through the standard “you’ll get it next time,” and, “this isn’t forever,” or even the casual “the kid has no idea what he’s doing - this is all for his benefit, I’m sure of it.”

But, those sentences had always been empty, maybe because it was more and more clear that wasn't actually true.

 

He scrunched the towel between his fingers whilst shoving a t-shirt over his head. Ushijima sat on the bench in front, staring blankly ahead. Everyone else had left, including Semi, and the two of them sat alone in the empty club room. 

“Do you not think he deserves to be a starting setter?” Ushijima cocked his head as Satori sighed in aggravation “Semi. who we were talking about like 4 seconds ago. Do you not think he deserves to be a starting setter?” Ushijima stared forward again, pondering the question. 

“Semi is a very skilled setter, who has excellent accuracy and admirable power.”

“But?” Ushijima scratched his chin absently. For some reason, Satori felt like he needed an answer. 

“But, Kenjiro is a strong player, who has a much wider connection on the court and is able  maintain said connectivity with his spikers consistently, unfazed by emotion.”  

… Whilst Semi trembles with it — even if he doesn’t show it. 

Satori feels like he gets that.

It’s still a typical Ushijima answer, if Satori could ever pinpoint one - more meaningful words unsaid; left open for interpretation. 

“But,” Satori heaves exasperatedly, “he’s a brilliant player.”

“And sometimes brilliant players have to sit on the sidelines. Karasuno’s vice captain is no longer a regular, his position taken by the first year Kageyama.” Satori stuffed his towel in his bag, back turned to Ushijima. “and yet he stays collective, a pillar of strength for a team that desperately needs it.”  
“Are you… back handedly complimenting a member of Karasuno?”

“It’s important for the elite to be gracious to those who deserve it.”  
“Never mind.” Satori slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and flicks the switch nearest to him. He hovers in the door as Ushijima checks to make sure nothing has been left under the benches, and thinks.

Every part of his mind screams at him to go and talk to Semi, to sit down with him and actually say something meaningful— even if it meant getting kicked in the face and yelled at.

Yet, as he and Ushijima trailed the corridors, he walked soundlessly past Semi’s bedroom door. 

 

 

It’s been 3 months, and to the untrained eye Semi would seem his usual calm and controlled self. He no longer scowls on the bench— at least, no more than normal— or taps against the wood bursting with anticipation. He no longer sits on the edge of his seat, whole body moving with the game. Instead he is a collected spectator, observing the game and scolding down Kenjiro with comments to help him improve as if he was his coach, not the third year replaced by the kohai. 

But, again, Satori was trained for this sort of shit.

Even if he had every one else fooled, slipping back into the position of ‘stern team mum,’ Satori wasn’t like everyone else.

He still saw the shiver of his body, the slag of his shoulders and the slump of his back. Semi wasn’t ok, his body seemed to absorb the fatigue of all the other players, and it was weird.

There were bags under his eyes, his hair was slightly limper, and his everyday scowl was a little less intense; like he just didn’t have the energy. 

He looked weaker, more worn out than when he was a regular. Which was weird, since you’d think sitting on the bench meant you didn’t do as much work as the regulars. 

Yet he looked like he was playing every match and more; it was concerning to say the least. 

But when he was confronted there was nothing out of the ordinary, still spitting the same insults back at Satori in their usual rhythm, even if they had a little less bite to them. 

“What happened to my handsome, young and youthful Semi?” Satori teased one 8.am practice, his elbow leaning into Semi’s back to help him stretch. 

“Fuck off,” he’d muffled back, “some of us actually stay up and study for important tests you know.”  
“Yeah some of us do, but that isn’t you SemiSemi.” 

“Don’t call me that.”  
“I’ll call you what I like”

“You’ll call me murderer if you don’t learn to shut that mouth of yours.”

The ‘friendly’ threats had been exchanged until the coach shouted them over, and Semi had yet again slipped underneath the radar. 

Almost. 

 

It was 1.43 am on a Wednesday morning when Satori truly discovered what was up. 

He’d laid awake for a while, the clock slowly ticking by as he’d laid on his bed engulfed in his covers ‘doing homework’. 

He was just about half way through the newest volume release of Shounen Jump (the new limited edition with added chapters in, might he add) when his phone made the pathetic beeping noise, and died. 

Satori groaned, releasing his arm from the safety of his duvet to try and fish his phone charger out of his duffel bag.

When his fingers only brushed carpet, he groaned louder. Then he heaved himself up and peered over the edge of his bed. As he dreaded, his duffel bag was nowhere in sight. 

Which meant he’d most likely left it in the club room. He let a loud restrained noise break from his throat before throwing himself out of bed dramatically, shoving shoes onto his feet and pulling his hoodie over his head. 

“This wouldn’t have happened if Ushijima had locked up” he grumbles shuffling towards the door, “Jin never checks for bags before locking up.” He creaks the door shut before creeping down the corridor, trying not to yawn too loudly. Satori’s just grateful that the third years get their own rooms, he doesn’t think he could deal with a pissed off room mate on top of everything else.

Everything else being Semi, which apparently occupied his mind probably more than was normal.

He was pretty sure he should be worrying about grades, and the fact his position on the team was always under threat— or not being confessed too. 

Stuff he’s pretty sure every other boy on a sports scholarship worries about.

And yet. 

He shakes his head, pulling his hood closer as he enters the cold night air. There’s no way that the club room would be open, Soekawa may not be as officiant as Ushijima but he’s no idiot. It was still worth a shot, it wasn’t unlikely that he’d left it just around that area anyways, maybe just outside if he’s lucky. 

 

The night is still around him as he makes his way deeper into campus, only the trees rustle to engulf the sound of his echoing footsteps. 

“If I’m caught out I’m screwed,” he mutters into the fabric of his hoodie, carelessly kicking at a stray pinecone. 

He rubs his eyes, squinting in the darkness, as his vision adjust to the dim light that lies in front of him. He blinks as distant objects become clearer, bathed in fading yellow light that captures the outline of benches and very low street lamps. Satori frowns, a noise faint but familiar pricking his ears as he continues closer to the club room. It’s not until he’s practically face to face with it does the low squeak register with his half asleep brain. 

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks a little faster, trying not to stumble as he walks up towards the volleyball gym. The same yellow light streams from inside, the unmistakable sound of volleyballs against waxed floor and the skid of trainers. He forgets the club house for a minute and, without even thinking, shoves the door open. 

He winces at the sudden bright light and blinks ahead, the figure in front of him stumbling in shock. 

The sound of their shoes echos before they finally regain balance, take a deep breath, and turn. 

“Oh my god you scared the crap out of me.” Satori gapes a second, not too sure how to reply.

Slowly, the figure registers, the light hair and the dark tips, the heave of heavy shoulders. 

He begins steadily, “Eita, what the fuck are you doing?” Semi looks exhausted and the gym is littered with volleyballs, evidential scars to Semi’s crime. 

“Practicing.” He states blandly. Satori stares in amazement.

Is he kidding?  
“Eita, it’s 1.43 in the morning!” Semi examines his digital watch. 

“I make it 1.41”

“Oh my god it’s still almost 2.am, what the hell do you think your doing?” Semi clicks his tong, scoops up another volleyball and turns back into position.

“I’ve already told you, I’m practicing.”

“You’re kidding, he has to be kidding, someone tell me he’s kidding.”  
“Satori we’re the only ones here, stop talking to yourself.”

“How-,” his words stammer in his throat, still in shock “how long have you been here?” The volleyball slams against the floor, just missing the other-side of the courts white line. Semi curses and scratches the back of his neck. “I dunno, since the end of practice?” Again, Satori stares.  
“How, how have you not been caught?” 

“Satori I know it escapes your attention some how, but I’m actually 18. An adult. If I want to practice till late then I can.”

“Nope,” Satori shakes his head “I’m pretty sure this is against school rules.”  
“Whatever, I’m not doing any damage.” Another volleyball is clasped in Semi’s hands, and he takes a running position. 

“Yeah no damage except to yourself, you complete dumbass.” There’s not hint of playfulness in Satori’s tone, for once in his life he feels the same level of seriousness Ushijima carries in his bones. 

Satori is hyper aware of his own emotions, too. And wow is he pissed off with Semi right now. 

Semi leaps in the air, legs flexing and arms swinging backwards in order to perform what is an almost perfect jump serve. His landing however is a stumble halt, leaving Semi to crash onto his hands and knees. 

Satori rushes forward and slumps down at Semi’s side. 

Air hisses through Semi’s teeth as he clutches his thigh

“fuck”. Satori swats one of Semi’s hands away and clasps at Semi’s thigh, carefully feeling for knotted muscle. “you’ve cramped it, overworked the inner of your thighs. Probably from training too much.” Semi scrunches his face in pain, and Satori shakily rustles a hand through his hair. 

“Semi, what the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m trying to get fucking better, Satori. I’m earning my place and stuff.” A small yelp escapes involuntary as Satori kneads at the the tense muscle. “This will hurt, because you’ve stupidly overworked it. Eita you idiot.”  
“Yeah, yeah I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Satori feels his own frustration boil inside him, trying to keep his breath steady. “you could’ve hurt yourself badder.”

“That was awful grammar.”  
“Not now you asshole. Don’t lecture me about grammar when my hands on your inner thigh because you’ve been a complete fuckward.”

“Imaginative.”

“Semi, I mean it.” Another gulp of pain is caught in Semi’s throat, and Satori forces himself to be gentler. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with pent up muscle, yet it was hard not to go rough when he literally wanted to strangle Semi.

“So this is why you’ve looked like a zombie for the past month? Because you come here and practice yourself to death.”

“Dramatic as always.”

“Eita, you have to stop this.” He can feel Semi turn away stubbornly as he continues to focus his gaze on his leg, only looking up to catch the strike of his jaw. “you can’t keep pushing yourself like this, I’m being serious.”

“Don’t, it doesn’t suit you.”  
“And neither do your ridiculous oversized denim jackets yet you wear those all the time.”  Semi doesn’t respond again. 

“Does coach know you’re here?”

“He knows I’ve stayed after practice a few times, yeah.”

“What, till almost 2 in the morning?” Semi glances at his watch again.

“I make it 1.53”

“I want to make a connection with my fist and your face.” He looks up, eyes meeting Semi who scowls harshly at him. 

“My foot is perfectly inlined to meet with your face, so I’d watch it Tendou.”

“Why are you doing this?” Satori mutters, ignoring the threats. “what’s the point in overworking yourself to the point you get sick?” Semi sucks in a harsh breath of air. Silence falls between them as Satori forces Semi to push against his hands, trying to un-work the loosening muscle. 

“… overworking yourself isn’t going to get you your place back.” Semi says nothing, only bows his head. “you know it won’t”.

More silence.

And then, “I can’t—I can’t do nothing.” Semi digs his hands into his right thigh, looking away again. “I can’t just sit there on the bench and just let— just let him take my place. I can’t. Not without a fight.” 

Satori shakes his head. “You sound like that ginger kid Ushijima talks about.” 

“You mean I sound passionate”

“I mean you sound like something out of Naruto, to be honest.” Satori catches Semi’s eyes just long enough too see the twitch of his lips. Then the scowl is back and he huffs moodily. “Again, I wouldn’t get you to understand.”

“Why? You think you’re the only one who suffers without you on the court.” Semi tilts his head slightly. 

“I don’t want to spike his tosses, you know. I want yours.”  
“How romantic.”

“I’m being serious.” 

“It still doesn’t suit you.” Satori grunted in response, no longer in the mood to tolerate any form of banter Semi seemed to seek. Instead he forced another harsh shove of Semi’s foot and dug his palm forcefully into the muscle. 

“How does that feel?” Semi cautiously flexes his muscle, brows furrowed. He nods slowly.

“Better. It just feels stiff.”

“It will do for a while,” Satori rises too his feet slowly, “the muscle’s been over worked.” He then turns to look down at Semi, and half heartedly helps him too his feet. 

“Really, this serious thing doesn’t suit you.” Semi offers Satori a kind smile which sits uncomfortably over his usual scowl. Then he rustles his fingers through Satori, trying to spike Satori’s boisterous behaviour.

Satori only grunts in response.

 

***

“Oikawa syndrome.”

“Oikawa what?” Ushijima didn’t look up from his book, only continuing to scroll through the current sports article he was analysing. Satori tilted his head, sitting up slightly from where he laid and caught the volleyball he’d been tossing in his hand. “Oikawa what?” he asked again.

“Oikawa syndrome” Ushijima repeated slower, as if it was an obvious medical condition that Satori should know.  
“Ok, and what does that mean?”

“Oikawa is a skilled player with incredible control and ability as a setter.” Satori nods his head, hoping that Ushijima wasn’t using his concern for Semi as a bridge to talk about Oikawa.  
“uhuh”

“However,” Ushijima looks up from his desk and stares ahead dramatically “he is famous for overworking himself, desperately clutching at the edges of greatness through excessive training and over compensation.” He turns slowly to Satori “he’s overwhelmed by insecurity at his own skill, which breaks through his own common sense and causes him to push himself to his breaking point.”  
“And you’re saying Semi is doing the same?” Ushijima turns back down to his book, doesn’t answer.  
“Semi shouldn’t worry, though!” Satori says for Ushijima “he’s a really good setter, and he’s still super super important to the team. And he’s a really good pinch server!”

“Yes, that’s all true.”  
“So why’s he doing this?” Satori groans dramatically and flops back down on the bed, doing another forceful toss. “he’s gonna hurt himself because he’s too dumb to see that he’s important.”

“Maybe you should tell him.”

“I have told him, Wakatoshi.” he rolls onto his side, “but he won’t listen. He’s all ‘blah blah blah I’m Eita and I’m not a starting player, blah blah blah, I know everything, blah blah blah blah, my role as a bencher means nothing because I’m too proud to see that I’m being dumb and am still assential and there’s more to life than being a starting player blah blah _blah_.” He lets out another shaky sigh and mumbles “he never listens”. 

There’s a pause.

“No, I mean you should tell him how you feel.”

“I have.”

“No, how you really feel.” Satori sits up again, abruptly. He narrows his head, slides off the bed and towers over Ushijima were he sits. “What’s that suppose to mean?” 

Ushijima doesn’t even flinch or react to his invasion of personal space. He doesn’t look up, only states blandly “That you care for him beyond being his fellow teammate.”

“You mean as a bro? He knows we’re bros.”

“Beyond being a… ‘bro’” Ushijima spits out the last word in a splutter, still not one for slang. Satori narrows his eyes even more.

“Watakoshi, are you trying to suggest that there is something homoerotic about my feelings for Semi?” Finally, Ushijima looks up, expression sitll readless.

Unless, of course, you’re Satori- whose weird sixth sense leaves Ushijima looking like an open book.

And he is deffinantly smirking. 

“don’t you? You always flirt with him, and look at him and hover around him and touch him in ways which-” 

Satori’s hand rushes over Ushijima’s mouth to stop him from saying anything more embarrassing. 

Satori scoffs, coughing on his own breath “No! No! You can’t— Wakatoshi you can’t just _say_ thinks like- what, what if someone heard?— you have to— people would talk—rumours!” Ushijima gently peels Satori’s hand away from his mouth and finally turns to analyse Satori.

Ushijima’s eyebrow cocks slightly. 

“So, you do?” Satori runs a hand shakily through his hair, fingers caressing the tips of it’s spikes. He feels the ghost of Semi’s fingers from yesterday. 

Does he?

“Does it matter? It’s not like Semi feels the same if I did- which I don’t.”

“Which you do.”  
“Which i don’t know because my mind is 100% focussed on volleyball and crushing Karasuno, Captain.” 

Ushijima’s smirk widens— not that it would have been visible to anyone else. 

“I would be concerned if your whole life was dominated by volleyball, mainting healthy social relationships and maintaining good grades are crucial to court mentallity and performance.” Satori rolled his eyes, lowering himself to lean on the desk.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” 

“Perhaps,” Ushijima pauses, and slows “… perhaps what Semi needs to hear is that he’s valued as a person, not just as a player.” Satori scratches at his chin in thought.

“Maybe, Semi needs to be shown that people appreciate him as a person, that his worth as a human being doesn’t necessarily centre around just being a setter.” 

Satori stares, “surely he must know that?”  
“Tendou, I think it’s fair to comment that your life is not in volleyball. You got here on a sports scholarship for hokey, you played volleyball as a bonus sport, and chose it over the hokey club because the team dynamics and game element suited your personality better.” Satori nods, abosorbing his own character analysis. 

“But for many others on the team, through middle school and beyond they have been defined by their volleyball skills. Their life has evolved around it, for them there is nothing fun in volleyball unless you succeed. Volleyball is their livelihood, and their presentation as a person should corerlate accordingly.”

“And you get that, don’t you Wakatoshi?” Ushijima straightens.

“Of course I do, volleyball defines many of my own characteristics. As it does for Semi. His hot headed nature, determination and ability to be a admirable centre of control comes from his life long dedication to the sport.” Satori nods, intrigued.

“What differs between us, is that I’m on the court as captain, and he’s on the bench as a third year. To you, being on the bench might be frustrating and insulting— to Semi it’s a total question of his own purpose, the decision to bench him will shape his future and his University offers. Being on the bench means he needs a back up plan.” Ushijima pauses, and for the first time in the whole conversation he has the decency to look concerned “and I don’t think he has one.”

The two stay in silence for a couple of moments, Ushijima does not turn to continue studying. 

“Huh.”

 

***

Eita’s door is burst open, causing him to jump. He quickly slams himself back down on the bed and drops his gym bag to the floor.

“Aha! I knew you weren’t studying.” Eita blinks once in shock at his intruder, and then lamely glances over at his desk- which is clear of any books or evidence of studying. He turns back to Tendou and crosses his arms.

“I was about to get started.”

“B-u-ll-shi-t” Tendou invites himself in, planting his frame insistently in Etia’s desk chair. “you where about to sneak off into the gym on a rest day, to try and commit suicide via volleyball.” Eita’s glare deepened.  
“Satori, that’s not possible.”

“Is too, it’s called Oikawa-syndrome. I spoke to a professional about it.” Etia feels his throat go dry and eyes the door hopefully. He knows it would be both embarrassing and futile to try and dart for the door, gym bag cluched and make a run for the gym. For a start, he’s pretty sure that Tendou’s faster than him and would catch up in seconds. Eita might be stronger, but he wouldn’t be able to out live Tendou’s pestering and clinginess. So he just sighs and stiffens on the bed.

Yet his veins ache with tension and his stomach swashes with guilt. Eita needs to train, he can’t waste time trying to revive grades that had been 10 feet under since his first year of high. 

So, irritabliy, he spits out “what the fuck is Oikawa syndrome? Oikawa Tooru is alive.” Satori waves him off and spins in the chair, digging in his bag enthusiastically and chucking book upon book onto the desk.

“Unimportant. What is important is that your senpai is here,” he pulls out another massive text book which hits the oak table with a loud thud, “to tutor you.” 

Semi can literally feel his temper begin to boil over. 

“Ok right first off, your only 6 months older than me—“

“thats half a year!”

“— let me finish you stupid idiot. Firstly, you’re only six months older than me, and secondly you’re only one class above me. You are literally in no position to tutor me.”  
“Okay first off, I’m six months older than you meaning I have more life experience, and second of all i’m a whole class above you meaning that I am in the perfect position to tutor your.”

“Oh my God I want to die.”  
“Yeah I know, that’s why you keep trying to commit volleyball suicide.” Eita grabs at his hair in frustration.  
“I’m not trying to commit volleyball suicide you dumb fuck.” Again, Tendou just waves him off and scoots onto the bed next to Eita, spreading out his books and notes. 

“yeah yeah whatever. So, I thought we could do some out of club bonding by doing some studying together and help each other imrpove. I’ll start with maths because I know you suck at it.”

Eita slaps Tendou over the back of his head, recoiling in aggravation when Tendou’s grin only grew.

“Thats the spirit, now grab a pen or pencil or whatever and something to write on”

“Will your face do?”  
“No, stupid Eita, it won’t.”

 

Eita didn’t actually grasp how fully fucked he was until Tendou opened his mouth, and tried to explain. Eita had conveniently forgotten that, despite Tendou only being in class 2, he was in advanced maths. And sadly, for Eita’s sanity, he wasn’t much of a teacher. 

So he finds himself focussing on Tendou, like so many times before. His eyes trace the tip of his red hair, slowly deflating under the pressure of the day, the fast bubble of his mouth as soft lips slide over harsh sound. The spark of his eyes, although dimmed with tiredness still held some sort of electricity that made Eita feel weird if he thought about it to much. He studies Tendou’s face, the way muscle changes his expression so fast, the way his lips never curl from some scary grin. Tendou does have a creepy smile, he thinks, but it suits him.

Eita remembers the time he punched someone in face because they told Tendou he was creepy. He was banned from club activities for a week, and it wasn’t the best start to his second year.

He wonders if Tendou feels like he has to do this sort of thing— because Eita sticks up for him. He supposes it’s sort of a trade, they stick up for each other, they stay a misfit pair with Ushijima looming on their heels and sometimes centring their jokes. 

It worked, the three of them, or at least it did.

Yet Semi kinda always felt like it was the two of them, the two of them with each others backs.

So was that why Tendou was here? Just trying to be a ‘bro’ again, a lighthouse in Semi’s storm or whatever. Not there because he wants to be, but because he has to be—because he owes him or something?

“ok so, the length of each cathetus of a right triangle with equal catheti is equal to the square root of half of the square of the length of the hypotenuse, meaning that the answer is 12. Do you see it now?” Eita blinks.

“I see a light at the end of the tunnel and it’s calling my name.” 

Tendou frowns, pouting out his bottom lip and taps his pencil against Eita’s own equation sheet. 

“You can’t give up now, Eita. You’re so close!”

“If you mean I’m so close to shoving this paper down your throat then you’re not wrong.” 

Tendou throws a pencil at Eita, and Eita just groans and collapses on the bed. He looks over at his clock.

“It’s 9pm, we’ve been at this for two hours. Can’t we give it a rest?”  
“What so you can run off to the gym? I don’t think so.” 

Eita tries not to combust into flames on the spot, and instead rises off the bed, feeling the ache in his joint from sitting weird for so long. 

Tendou is already sitting up straight, stilled and ready for action. “Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” Eita rolls his eyes. 

“the bathroom, if that’s ok with you, or do you want to accompany me there too?” Tendou narrows his eyes and points to Eita’s bathroom door. “that bathroom, right? Because you’re not escaping this triangular prism.”

“that was an awful maths joke”

“well good because it wasn’t a joke, it was a statement.” Eita sighs again, “okay, whatever.” He slides the door open and steps into the bathroom. 

“Oh! And don’t think you can escape, I’ve already clogged the toilet!”  
“You better be fucking joking. Satori I’m so serious right now why the hell would I try and escape down the toilet you better be joking.”  
“Of course I am, you nerd.”

“you’re a nerd you douche”

“Just stop stalling and go pee so we can get back to this.” Eita clicks his tong irritably and slams the door shut. 

He wonders if he could escape down the drain pipe instead or something. 

 

It just gets worse from there on out. Tendou talks as fast as he runs, and he seems to slam his words out as if maths was a volleyball he could block. It’s around 10:30 and Eita literally wants to die. 

He’s not even tired, just so on edge, so incredibly aware of his surroundings and time as it drags on past, wasted on a lost cause. Yet Tendou’s voice is laced with the same enthusiasm as when he talks tactics, or about his stupid manga or anything that remotely interests him. Eita can tell it’s all for his benefit, he can tell that Tendou hates maths just as much as he does. He can tell that this is all a show, concealing motives that Eita hasn’t worked out yet or doesn’t understand.

He knows that, as a friend, Tendou is probably worried about him. Which in all honesty is what Eita had hoped to avoid. He didn’t want anyone sticking their noses in his business, and least of all the unnervingly persistent and determined Tendou. 

Yet he was blanketed by unplaced guilt as Tendou continued to lecture Eita on triangles or something. It wasn’t just Eita’s time this was wasting, it was Tendou.

Tendou who had his own problems, his own grades and club to think about. Eita had single handedly redirected Tendou’s entire focus of energy onto him, when in reality he’d rather Tendou put effort into things that mattered.

Because, in all honest, Eita didn’t matter anymore. Although Eita couldn’t give up on himself, because if he did he truly would have nothing left, Tendou had no reason to be here.

Besides friendship, and sure they where close, but Eita would never ask for this.

So, finally, he cut through Tendou’s barrier of gibberish. 

“Why do you care so much?” Tendou pauses for a second and thinks.

“Because your grades are shit and you’re my friend.” He pauses again and takes a deeper breath. 

“My best friend.” Eita looks down at his hands. He was awful at this emotional shit, and wished he hadn’t asked. 

“I don’t want you to care.” Eita lets the awfully dramatic sentence leave his lips, and waits for a slap to the back of the head or to be wrestled to the ground.

When nothing hasn’t, he slowly looks up too see Tendou staring at him instantly. 

“You don’t get to choose who cares for you.” Eita grumbles in response, and Tendou still stares.

“You’re important to me. And I care. So that’s why I’m here.”  
“You shouldn’t. I don’t have any potential anymore or shit like that.” More silence. And then Tendou grabs Eita’s hand and shoves it under his shirt.

Eita splutters. “What the fuck are you doing?” Tendou ignores him and continues to drag Eita’s palm under his shirt, tong stuck out in concentration. Then he firmly pushes it against his left bicep. 

Then nods.

“Feel that? That’s my pulse.”

Eita blinks. “stupendous.”  
“Shut the fuck up and listen. That’s my pulse. My heart beat. What makes me human and shit. And whenever you’re around Eita, for whatever messed up reason it speeds up.” Eita’s mouth parts slightly, unsure of what to say. 

So Tendou just keeps the conversation going by himself. “i don’t really get what it means, well I do but it doesn’t have to mean what I know it means if you don’t want it too. What’s important about it is that is speeds up because it’s you, and you’re so super important to me.” Tendou lets go of Eita’s rist, but Eita doesn’t move his hand. “Just because you’re on the back bench, doesn’t make you any less important as a person. And I don’t want to make this about volleyball, because ironically for once it’s not, it’s about self worth. And Eita honestly your self worth goes beyond sport and setting and tosses. You’re a person with a heartbeat like me, like Ushijima like any other player. And yours is just as important.” Eita’s hand slides down from under his shirt, falling defeatedly into Tendou’s lap. 

“And if you make my heart go all bam and shit, imagine how other people must feel around you. eITA!” Tendou rolls onto his knees, throwing out his arms, “YOU’RE INCREDIBLE!”  
“Be quite you idiot!” Eita yanks on one of Tendou’s arms and pulls him back down, terrified someone might hear.

But they’re alone, concealed by walls. 

Eita sighs and looks over at Tendou, and before he can stop himself splutters “iloveyou” 

Tendou looks shocked, eyes wide. “you-you what?”

“Forget it oh god.”  
“No, no say it again!”

“Not it was one time thing!”

“No, no that’s not fair you said it way too fast! Eita-kuns a dirty hypocrite for telling me I have a mouth like a jack hammer!” Eita glares darkly.

“Fine, we can say it together.”  
“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“…Count of 3?”

“Sure, whatever.” Eita turns his head away and takes a shakey breath. 

“3”

“2” 

“I love you.”

“1—you idiot Satori we where saying it after one!”

“No you did not specify that, what the fuck Eita now I look like an idiot!”  
“Okay fine I love you too, you twat are you happy!”

“Fantastic thanks you rude jerk!” 

The two are practically shouting in each others faces, expressions tense and both looking pretty pissed off.

As usual, Tendou’s the first to crack a grin, and like a reflection Eita follows. 

Eita has never felt as energised by Tendou’s contagious smile than he does today, and without thinking he smashes their faces together.

It’s awkward, pretty inexperienced and leads to bruised and bleeding lips.

But it suits them, Eita guesses. 

 

***

“What kind of fight did those two get into?” A first year whispers to his friend three months after the incident,  as they watch Semi’s quickly shrug of his school shirt and rush to pull his sports top on. But the scratch marks are unmissable. 

 Ushijima turns to observe Semi, as Tendou hangs off of him with a smug looking smirk. Eita grabs Tendou’s shirt and pulls him close, snapping at him.

Tendou only smiles wider.

“Love truly is a battleground.” Ushijima mutters, catching the attention of the same confused first years. “One that should remain off the court, might I remind you two.” The two of them turned, Semi’s cheecks catching pink with slight embarrassment.

Tendou only bellows with laughter. 

“Eita-kun just can’t keep his hands off of me, good thing he’s not on the court eh Wakatoshi?”

“One more sorrowful dig like that and you’ll be digging your own grave!”

“Will you read romantic poetry at my funeral, Eita-chan?”

“Lord.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
